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<title>Don’t Worry, You’re Not Going to Hell by g_oreal</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25119013">Don’t Worry, You’re Not Going to Hell</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/g_oreal/pseuds/g_oreal'>g_oreal</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Red vs. Blue</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(via drug overdose), Alternate Universe - Angels &amp; Demons, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dark Comedy, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Flash Fic, Gen, Suicide, This is a small thing for a bigger verse that I might work on</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 08:48:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>777</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25119013</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/g_oreal/pseuds/g_oreal</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“David isn’t a difficult person, usually. He doesn’t like making trouble. But since this is the day he most definitely dies, he wouldn’t mind pissing off a haughty guardian angel as his last earthly act.“</i>
</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dexter Grif &amp; Agent Washington</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Don’t Worry, You’re Not Going to Hell</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>This is how David “Washington” Gallo dies.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>He’s standing in his apartment kitchen, holding his medication bottles. He has just taken them all.</p><p> </p><p>And now he waits.</p><p> </p><p>…</p><p> </p><p>Maybe this would be a good time to reflect on his life? Just in case there's no sentience beyond death. Shitty homelife, shitty high school experience, shitty military career, shitty living as a veteran with PTSD and chronic pain. At least he got a cat. Who… recently died. Yeah. Shitty life, 0/10 would not recommend.</p><p> </p><p>His stomach rumbles. He hasn’t eaten in a while, and he’s starting to feel nauseous. Probably the drugs kicking in. He had read up on symptoms of drug overdose in his specific medications, and they didn’t look very fun. Not that he was expecting to go out peacefully. Pretty sure they don’t euthanize people.</p><p> </p><p>He leans back on the counter with a sigh. Really hoped he would die quicker. At a barely noticeable pace, his body starts to heat up. The lights also seem to be getting brighter, and is he shaking or is it all in his head?</p><p> </p><p>Everything goes back to normal. Except not really, because now there’s a man in a three piece suit standing in the kitchen with him. David nearly drops his empty pill bottles. The man has a concerned look on his face.</p><p> </p><p>“Why did you do that?” he asks with not too much intent. David opens and closes his mouth, remembering that hallucinations are one of the side effects.</p><p> </p><p>“You… you're not real,” he says steadily. The man raises an eyebrow. Then, he strides up to David and puts a hand on his forearm. When he removes his hand, a glowing handprint with intricate markings is left. David can feel it in his skin. His concern grows. “Who are you?”</p><p> </p><p>“Name’s Dexter Grif. Now, why did you do that?” says Dexter.</p><p> </p><p>“<em> What </em> are you?” David asks, bewildered. Dexter sighs.</p><p> </p><p>“This is gonna sound cheesy as hell, but I’m your guardian angel.”</p><p> </p><p>David stalls. He thinks he’s frowning (he’s probably frowning).</p><p> </p><p>“Does this mean god is real?” He asks.</p><p> </p><p>Dexter pinches the bridge of his nose. “Please answer the question,” he grumbles.</p><p> </p><p>“Wait. Is <em> heaven </em> real? Am I going to heaven?” David asks. Dexter sighs. “Are you here to take me to heaven?”</p><p> </p><p>“No, id—, <em> David </em>, you’re killing yourself. The best you’re getting is purgatory.”</p><p> </p><p>A beat, realization, acceptance.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, you’re right on that one I guess.”</p><p> </p><p>They stand in silence, Dexter staring at David intently.</p><p> </p><p>“Wait, purgatory is real?”</p><p> </p><p>“Please just tell me why you’re killing yourself.” Dexter sighs.</p><p> </p><p>“I want to die. I’m tired of living, and there’s nothing for me here anymore,” he answers, frowning. It’s… really depressing when he says it out loud. But that’s the truth. His angel exhales loudly.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay. Well, it was a good run while it lasted, I guess.” David winces at the frankness of Dexter’s words.</p><p> </p><p>“Aren’t you supposed to, like, help me or something? Stop me?”</p><p> </p><p>“You don’t want me to. And I don't do things unless I absolutely have to,” Dexter almost recites, like he’s used that same line on tens if not hundreds of other people he’s guarded.</p><p> </p><p>“Is that why my life was so shitty?” David asks flatly.</p><p> </p><p>“Actually, smartass, I’m the reason why your life <em> wasn’t </em> any shittier than it was. And I think you should be grateful for that.” David bristles.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, fuck off dude, I’m trying to die here. How long does it take for these things to kick in anyways…”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re gonna go into shock soon,” Dexter supplies helpfully. “If you want to skip the pain of drug overdose, I can always take you now.”</p><p> </p><p>“Wh—take me? Take me where?” David is starting to sweat, hard.</p><p> </p><p>“Purgatory. Plus, I don’t think either of us want to have this conversation while your brain is shorting out,” Dexter steps forward, hand outstretched.</p><p> </p><p>David isn’t a difficult person, usually. He doesn’t like making trouble. But since this is the day he most definitely dies, he wouldn’t mind pissing off a haughty guardian angel as his last earthly act.</p><p> </p><p>“No,” he says, trying not to obviously act smug. Dexter’s expression sours.</p><p> </p><p>“Fucker.”</p><p> </p><p>David tries not to laugh. This whole situation is thoroughly bizarre, and his supposed guardian angel just cussed him out. A chuckle escapes him. And then a laugh. Soon enough, he is full-on cackling. He’s gonna die, and this is the last thing he did. What a waste. He’s doubled over, tears forming in the corner of his eyes, and his chest starting to hurt badly. He loses his footing while laughing, and everything fades to black before he hits the floor.</p>
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